Tangible
by Kalimyre
Summary: Nick thinks he's dreaming. Post Grave Danger story. Light preslash.


Tangible

By Kalimyre

000

Gil set Nick's left hand down on the sheet, careful to make sure the tape on the IV line didn't pull, and picked up his right. He cradled it for a moment, examining the ant bites, piled up on top of each other and packed so close there was scarcely a patch of untouched skin. Grinding his teeth was beginning to really hurt, so he forced his jaw to relax and tried another deep breath.

Nick's hand was warm. That helped. His pulse was slow and steady at his wrist. Strong, like Nick had always been. Dependable.

Gil reminded himself this would go better if he didn't think about... well, anything. He scooped up a bit more calamine and began smoothing it over Nick's forearm, not blinking at the fingernail gouges there, his face wooden. Emphatically not thinking about it. He smoothed more lotion around the inside of Nick's wrist, where the skin was thin and vulnerable.

He spent a few moments with his fingertips pressed against the radial artery, timing his breathing to Nick's pulse. Counting it. Still not quite convinced it wouldn't stop suddenly, like it had in the ambulance. He'd heard about that afterward, when he asked why Warrick was throwing up in the ER parking lot. Ant venom, Catherine had said, and he'd nodded. She didn't know how many bites it would take to cause actual toxic shock in a man Nick's size and health. Gil did. For the first time ever, he wished for less knowledge.

More lotion on Nick's palm, smoothing it out; it tried to curl into a semi-fist when left at rest. Even deeply asleep, Nick's posture was self-protective, pulled inward, huddled. Gil spread each of his fingers, carefully coating each with the soothing lotion, rubbing it into the webs between his fingers and the creased undersides of his knuckles. He considered the small, reddened semicircles on Nick's palm, matched them to his fingernails automatically, and looked away.

Gil gave a startled indrawn breath when Nick's fingers curled around his suddenly, and he looked back to see Nick staring at him, his eyes dark and wide. Nick glanced around, seeming to not really register the hospital room, and then focused back on him. He opened his mouth, wet his lips, and took a breath, but didn't speak.

"Hey," Gil said, squeezing the hand still clutching his. "How are you doing?" Which sounded like a terminally stupid question the moment he heard his own voice, but he didn't know the right words. He never did.

Nick blinked at him, lifted his free hand slightly, then froze when he was stopped short by the soft gauze looped around his wrist, tethering it to the bed. He stared at it, then at the same gauze on his other wrist, and Gil heard the heart monitor start to speed up.

"It's okay," he said quickly, rubbing his thumb over Nick's palm in what he hoped was a soothing motion. "You woke up earlier and you were... upset. Tore the IV line out. This is just to keep you from accidentally hurting yourself."

Upset, of course, was a bit of an understatement. Nick had been hysterical. It had taken two nurses, Gil, and Sara to hold him down and what had hurt so much hadn't been his screams, but his hoarse voice, barely there. All screamed out.

Nick shook his head slightly, staring fixedly at the gauze ties. "I don't remember that."

"No, you wouldn't," Gil replied, nodding. "You weren't entirely... present, I think." He'd already decided to blame the medication for that, rather than some fundamental break inside of Nick.

Nick lifted his arms with more strength, trying to push them upward, letting go of Gil's hand. "Untie me," he said, and the heart monitor was beginning to really worry Gil.

"Okay, easy," he said, but Nick didn't seem to hear him. He was starting to shake again, those helpless, full-body twitches that had finally faded nearly an hour after his first heavy dose of sedative. Gil pulled the knot on the gauze; it was tied in a slip, easy enough for Nick himself to release if he'd been able to think that clearly.

The moment his hands were free Nick lifted them, stopping and feeling the air a few inches over his chest. It took Gil a moment to get it, until he pictured the box around Nick and realized he was feeling for the lid. "It's not there," Gil said, and then stood, leaning over him. "See?" He reached out and matched his hands to Nick's, pressing their palms together, without the barrier of plexiglass this time. Then he pulled upward, extending Nick's arms, waving them a little. "You're out, you're okay. Okay?"

Nick stared at his arms, at their linked hands, and at Gil, and when his eyes started to tear up Gil frowned, wondering what he'd done wrong. It might have been better if Nick had woken up when it was Catherine's turn with him, or Warrick's, or even Greg's. Gil didn't know how to fix this, how to solve it.

"Just, uh..." Nick swallowed, sniffed, and dropped his hands back to his chest. "Checking."

"Of course." Gil sat back down, tapped his fingers on the sheet for a moment, and then picked up the jar of calamine again. At least that was something useful he could do. He started higher on Nick's forearm, working into his elbow. Nick watched dispassionately for a few minutes, his arm dead weight, responding to Gil's handling the same way a DB would. Gil found himself checking Nick often, watching to make sure he was still breathing.

He jumped when Nick said, "I saw my autopsy."

Gil paused, measuring his response carefully, wondering about the dull lethargy in Nick's voice. Medication, right? Drugs, not defeat. "You did?" he asked, with as much casual curiosity as he could muster.

Nick nodded, giving a faint, humorless smile. "They were singing. Was funny. My dad was there. Doc Robbins handed him my heart. I watched."

Gil opened his mouth, then shut it again. "Oh," he said after a moment. "I see."

"Not really. You weren't there. Besides, it wasn't real."

Well, that was reassuring, at least. Nick was able to differentiate between real and hallucination. "Anoxia," Gil said. "Hallucinations would be normal under those conditions, especially with the addition of all that ant venom."

Nick nodded. "Thought I was going nuts."

Gil floundered for a moment, trying to find the right answer to that. Had Nick broken with reality a bit toward the end? Very probably, but hell, Gil couldn't blame him. He settled on, "We were all scared."

"I wouldn't say this for real, but I almost did it," Nick murmured, his eyes beginning to slide shut again. "Almost pulled the trigger."

Gil went back to grinding his teeth. It was marginally more satisfying. "But you didn't," he pointed out.

Nick shrugged. "I think I probably will, when I'm there again."

Gil thought, if he'd been the one hooked to a heart monitor just then, it would have stuttered alarmingly. "What?" he asked, startled to hear his own voice sound so gut-punched. "Nicky, you're not thinking about... about doing anything like that, are you?"

Nick cracked an eyelid open and looked at him with a certain bemusement. "S'okay, don't worry. You won't be around after."

"What?" Gil said again, shaking his head. "No, Nick... what are you saying?"

"I'm _there._" Nick sounded exasperated, like Gil should be able to grasp something so obvious. "You're in my head. So you'll be gone."

Gil slumped back against his chair and closed his eyes for a long moment. "No, listen." He shook Nick's shoulder, drawing him from his half-doze. "You're not in that box anymore. We got you out, don't you remember? I made you promise to be still, because of the explosives, and we pulled you out."

Nick was shaking his head before Gil finished speaking. "Wasn't real either," he mumbled. "Couldn't be."

"Why not?"

"You called me Pancho. Only my dad does that. Old game with us." Nick's words were slurring together more and more, and Gil knew this was hardly a good time to try and be rational with him, but he couldn't let this go. Couldn't let Nick go on believing he was still trapped, and this was all a fever dream.

"I know," Gil said, leaning close, trying to keep Nick's focus. "I know that because I heard him say it. He was looking at the feed and he said it to you."

Nick blinked blearily at him. "Feed?"

Gil hesitated. They hadn't known how to tell Nick what they'd seen, how they'd witnessed what he went through. It had been decided, without actual discussion, that they wouldn't tell him yet. Later, they all seemed to think. When he was ready. Gil was fairly sure that "later" would become never if Nick didn't ask too many questions, because no one wanted to be the one to tell him.

But if that was what it took to make Nick believe he was safe, so be it. "The kidnapper put a webcam in the box," Gil said, watching Nick carefully. "He sent us a receiver. We could see you, live."

A long, blank stare, and then Nick shook his head. He closed his eyes tight and set his jaw. "No."

Gil sighed and took his hand again, gently uncurling the tight fist. "It's part of how we found you. A big part, actually."

Nick shook his head again and said nothing, his lips pressed so tightly together they all but disappeared.

"Nicky..." Gil looked down, then reached his free hand up, cupping Nick's jaw. "You never disappointed me. Not once."

Nick's eyes opened fast, fixing on Gil. "You could hear me, too? You could all hear me?"

"No, there was no sound." Gil gave a self-conscious shrug. "Lip reading. You were making a tape--which was destroyed in the explosion," he added quickly when Nick looked even more alarmed.

"You..." Nick seemed to run out of words after that, and he brought his hand up, feeling Gil's hand on his jaw and neck, pressing it closer. He turned and nuzzled into the palm a little, inhaling deeply, closing his eyes. "Can't be real," he said. "But at least this time it's a nice dream."

Gil gave a frustrated huff and scooted closer, putting his face near Nick's. "If this were a dream, wouldn't I do exactly what you wanted me to do? Because it's all in your head?"

Nick made a vaguely affirmative sound and kissed Gil's palm. Gil blinked and wondered what, exactly, Nick had been dreaming about lately. "Is that what you want?" he asked quietly.

"All the time," Nick murmured. "Nice dream."

Gil brought his other hand up and trailed his fingertips over Nick's cheekbones, then smoothed his hair back from his forehead. Nick was ghost pale in the few places his skin wasn't red and swollen with bites, his eyes puffy, his lips chapped and cracked. But he was warm and breathing and Gil thought he'd never looked so beautiful.

"Mmm," Nick said, smiling drowsily. He kissed Gil's palm again, the tip of his tongue darting out delicately, tasting him. Nick wrinkled his nose at the bitter tang of calamine and Gil found his first smile in days.

"Sleep, then," Gil said, brushing a quick, warm kiss over Nick's lips. "I'll be here when you wake up." And then, they'd see about those dreams.

000

Fin

May 20, 2005


End file.
